There are some places that are shrouded in mysteries beyond our wildest imaginations. Their secrets are hidden, tucked away, many of them never to be uncovered. Over time these forgotten dwellings become the breeding grounds for paranormal activity, unexplained phenomenon, and supernatural occurrences.

I’ve always been fascinated with the world of the unknown. I think it all began when I was fifteen years old. My first after-school job was working for an elderly couple who ran a B&B in upstate New York. I’d heard the house itself was haunted and in my short time working there I felt and saw strange things that to this day I still cannot explain (doors inexplicably shutting by themselves after I had just opened them, pounding footsteps that would repeatedly race up and down the stairs when I was in the house alone, and then there was just that eerie feeling in room #8, where even the guests would often admit to seeing strange things and acknowledge that they always felt like there was someone or something else right there in the room with them…), yet, instead of being threatened by all of this, I found it fascinating and intriguing at the same time. To this day, I enjoy the idea that there are spirits and forces that meld their world with ours.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why I jumped at the chance to go and see a historical “haunted house” in Connecticut while I was visiting my good friend, Kate, in her hometown of Madison late in August. Maybe it was also the fact that I had recently rented the movie ‘A Haunting in Connecticut’, or that I had a few friends who would often regale me with tales of ghosts and paranormal instances which they recalled from their youth while growing up only an hour and a half away from the very house we were invited to visit. Whatever it was, I felt compelled to see this house.

It was Kate’s childhood friend, Chris, a part-time volunteer member of the Guilford Keeping Society (a historical group within the town of Guilford, CT) who graciously offered to give us a private tour of the Medad Stone Tavern.

This house has a bizarre history that is unlike others; in the 1600’s the foundation of the house was built on Faulkner’s Island, roughly 6.7 miles from where it resides now. The family who owned it on the island had to evacuate, and rather than leave their home behind, they had the entire house moved over to Guilford where it remains to this day. It’s unknown as to why the family chose to make such an extreme decision in regards to the house itself, but it has been speculated that the house now holds a profusion of distinct energy often associated with its changes in locality. The house was restructured and additional rooms were added in 1803 in order for the house to be used as a tavern, yet strangely enough and for reasons unclear, it never fully opened. Instead, it was passed on through generations until its last and final descendant died, leaving it to the Guilford Keeping Society in 2001. It’s only within the last few years that the house has become open to the public as a landmark location and museum.

So in we ventured, my friends Kate, Olivia and I, with Chris, our faithful tour guide. We were told that the last living holder of the house was an elderly man named Len Hubbard, who was said to be a “strange” man, who led a sheltered life, rarely leaving or letting anyone into the house in his last few years alive. Also mentioned were the rumors that some of the volunteers had seen his spirit inhabit the rooms at the top of the stairs and a few even experienced paranormal activity when alone in the home. Chris also slid in the fact that he never stayed inside the house past dark.

One thing is certain, there is veiled and ambiguous aura that resides within the house, and you can’t help but sense as though you might see or feel something slightly out of the ordinary at any given moment. There were a few places we were privileged enough to see despite the fact that they are not normally on the tour or open to the public – these areas are the attic and the basement. Two staircases which lead to what horror films would have us believe to be some of the most iconic and paranormal regions in any classic haunted house.

The attic was where the servants used to hang and cure the meat, which seemed alarmingly odd considering the kitchen was nearly two flights down from this narrow closet that in reality against the dim afternoon light drifting in through the stained glass windows, looked more like a serial killer’s meat locker than a place where livestock was kept and hung to dry out.

The basement, however, was by far the most dilapidated area. The perfect setting for any haunting or paranormal occurrence; it was a filmy sea of overhead cobwebs that precariously threatened contact as we stumbled down the narrow staircase onto the rough, dirt floor of the cellar. Wooden planks created complex and limiting obstacle courses beneath our feet as we tried to carefully maneuver our way through the graveyard of discarded bottles and dusty furniture yet to be rediscovered. Despite the fact that the house has become a historical landmark, many of the rooms still contained remnants of its previous owners and need to be filtered through. It felt eerie and strange, to look over the belongings of someone else, who had died in the very house we were wandering through. It was a strange window into our adjoining world.

“We’re pretty sure this was basement was used as the slave quarters.” Chris told us, as the rest of us exchanged dubious looks and studied the gloomy surroundings in the dusky glow of the fading sunlight that filtered through the few grime encased windows the cellar offered.

Then we heard it. Maybe it was all in our heads. Perhaps our imaginations had reached a paranormal level of sensitivity, but we all did hear it. Similar to the sound a stack of heavy books being dropped about four feet from the ground might sound like, or maybe a hardwood chair loudly smacking against the floorboards, but something made a noise, and that sound had come from upstairs. Suddenly it became very clear that the daylight was shifting to twilight and a deafening silence was now an ominous and eminent presence in the house.

“It’s time to go.” Chris announced quickly and our tour was over.